It was a cold winter day in January when we first brought home Eddie, our new puppy. He was a “pure-breed double-coated” German Shepherd, one of the eight pups born to Elsa, a docile bitch *owned* by a hobby breeder. To acquire this trophy pup, dad paid Rs. 3000, a princely sum in the mid-1990s. It was a very exciting time for my little brother, “K”, and me—our dream of getting a “pet” dog had finally come true! But… something about the entire situation felt wrong; what, my preteen mind couldn’t yet pinpoint.
Eddie cried throughout the first night he was with us. He was probably missing his mother, the warmth of her body, the comfort of suckling her teats, the company of his siblings. He was, after all, just an infant, albeit of a different species! Then it struck me why something felt wrong: a tiny baby, not even a month old, had been taken away from his mother and sold to strangers! Nonetheless, my parents did their best in raising him. The pup was taken to the best vet in the city and arrangements were made for him to have a comfortable life. Due care was taken regarding his food and vaccinations.
A few weeks passed. It was peak winter. One day, while playing with our naughty little fur-ball, K blurted out of the blue, “We should have adopted a puppy from the streets, no? Eddie would have found a home anyway!”
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